Tension
by Twelve-on-Delphon
Summary: The Doctor hurts his back while protecting Clara. She offers to give him a massage to help. Whoffaldi. Drabble. Complete.


**A/N: I don't own Doctor Who.**

 **Tension**

The Doctor groaned for the fifth time in less than half an hour as he reached for a dusty book from a high shelf in the console room, his free hand coming once again to his lower back. Just like all of the other times, Clara felt a stab of guilt; it was partially her fault that he was hurting, after all.  
It had started innocently enough. They had been visiting a planet with the most incredible trees Clara had ever seen. The trunks were as thick around as an average car, and extended beyond her line of vision (though the Doctor claimed he could see all the way to the top). Some of them had brown bark like on earth, but most were deep purple and quite smooth to the touch, almost slippery. More so, they were all covered in sweet smelling blossoms that were larger than the Doctor's head and as silver as his hair. The whole forest seemed to glimmer with the light that filtered through the canopy of leaves.  
The trouble had started when the Doctor decided to cut into what seemed to be the largest one to extract the sap, which apparently was delicious when used as a glaze for meat. Neither of them had noticed that the local primitive people had begun to surround them before the first rock struck the Doctor square in the back. He dropped like a brick just as a large group of leave-clad aliens materialized out of the shadows. Not one of them was shorter than the Doctor, and they towered menacingly over him as they clicked angrily at him, pointing crude spears that were almost thicker than their arms. Clara rushed to his side in an instant.  
"Doctor!" She helped him to his feet quickly, hands fluttering over him to check for harm. He leaned heavily on her as he got up, something he would not have done before Christmas. He was much better with touch now, and trust. More likely to accept her help with a rueful smile than a scowl, though he denied it any time she mentioned it.  
The translation matrix was starting to kick in now, catching every other word. From what Clara could tell, they were trespassing in a sacred part of the forest, and the inhabitants weren't appreciative of the "squishy gray thing" carving up a holy tree. The Doctor, of course, snapped right back at them, and may or may not have told them exactly where they could shove their sacred forest.  
And then they were running toward the Tardis, dogging stones and spears as they went along, and had just about made it when-  
"Clara, above you!"  
Before she could react, the Doctor had slammed into her side, pushing her out from underneath the alien diving from a high branch toward her. It landed on the Doctor, sending him toppling to the ground in an awkward twist, his feet nearly touching his head as he hit the dirt. In a blink, Clara had pulled the creature off of him, kicking it once to make sure it stayed down. Then she practiacally drug him into the Tardis, pushing the doors closed a heartbeat before the rain of stones hit. She could hear them clattering against the wood as she ran to the console and threw the Tardis into the vortex, the way he had showed her to the last time he had been knocked on his arse and unable to pilot it himself. When the machine started to weaze, she let herself relax a little and turned back to the Doctor. He was still lying on his stomach by the door, grumbling lowly. Clara could pick out swears in several different languages.  
Now, half an hour and several pain pills later, he was still aching and looking worse for the wear as he settled uncomfortably into one of the chairs. Clara had had just about enough of that. He claimed that he didn't injure as easily as her, superior Time Lord physiology and all that. But this body was just a little more prone to weakness, and it showed after ordeals like the ones they had just endured. However, he had denied any help or apologies on her part, claiming he was fine.  
"Let me help you, Doctor, stop being so stubborn!" She snapped, throwing herself down onto the couch next to him. He winced as he was jostled in his seat.  
"See! You aren't okay at all." She said, a little more gently this time. Things were always better off when they tried not to lose their tempers with each other, though still bickered constantly. Bushy eyebrows drew down as he sighed heavily.  
"Clara, there's nothing you can do. The medicine will kick in eventually and I'll be healed by the time you wake up tomorrow, and then we can go somewhere without rocks. Or life forms." He added, tossing his book away with a sigh.  
"I can so help." She persisted, crossing her arms defiantly. That earned a snort.  
"Doing what? Clara, I don't think you can just boss the pain away." He teased, rolling his eyes. She would have smacked him if he wasn't already black and blue. How to help...  
"Do you... Well... I mean... I could give you a massage?" She managed, looking anywhere but his face. He froze, then snarled as the muscles in his back stiffened in complaint. That settled it.  
"Yep, that's what you need. C'mon, infirmary, quick as you like." She hopped to her feet, ignoring his disbelieving glare.  
"Clara..." She took his hand, helping him up gently.  
"Don't argue." Her smile was genuine. "Isn't there a spa room somewhere?"

The Tardis conviently placed the spa just outside the console room; she disliked seeing her thief in pain just as much as Clara. Inside, she found that a bottle of special massage oil had been left out as well. The label said that it was formulated to help sore muscles, and it smelled like lavender mixed with something distinctly alien. The Doctor eyed it warily.  
"Alright, Doctor. You know I can't do this with you in so many layers." She sighed, indicating his coat, hoody, and favorite holey jumper. He pulled his zipper up defiantly.  
"I really don't think this is necessary, Clara..." She took a step forward, intent on taking his coat off herself if she had to. He nearly fell over trying to get out of her way, pulling his back worse in the process.  
"Damn it, Doctor, I'm trying to help!" Her voice had inched up in pitch, threatening to break.  
Then she registered the blush on his face, the way he avoided her eyes.  
Aaah. He was shy.  
Clara felt her own cheeks warm.  
"Its okay, Doctor. If you like, I won't look till you're laying down, okay? I just want to make it hurt less, I'm not going to judge you or anything." She mummered, reaching out to take his hand. He studied her face for a long moment, then sighed.  
"Turn around, then." His voice was very quite and rumbled slightly in his embaressment. Quickly the brunette obliged, giving him her back as she listened to his coat, then jacket, and finally his jumper hit the floor. He grunted at her when he was laying on the massage table, and she quickly picked up the bottle of oil and began warming it between her hands. His skin ran cold, so it would feel extra nice that way.  
When she turned to face him, he was lying with his eyes shut tight, shoulders stiff. Clara sighed. She wished he wasn't so terrified of her; she thought, after Christmas, that they had moved past that.  
He flinched when her warm hands rested on his shoulders tentatively, letting him get used to her touch for a moment.  
"Relax," she murmured, stroking his pale skin gently. He was very skinny, but the muscles were strong, if a little wiry. After a few long moments, his muscles gradually began to unwind. When her hands really started to knead at his back, he practically slumped against the massage table with a low whine.  
"Am I hurting you?" She asked at once, pulling her hands away. He turned his head slightly to look at her, shaking his head. Her cheeks flushed immediately. His pupils were wide, ringed with blue on the edges.  
Her hands moved back to his back hesitantly, knuckles rolling over the knots there. His muscles really were tense; even if he hadn't hurt himself, he must have already been at least a little sore. She felt bad again. They had been adventuring nonstop, throwing themselves headfirst into new experiences, and she had been unaware that it was taking such a physical toll on him. She would have to make a point to slow down...  
"Don't." He said suddenly. It took her a second to realize that he wasn't talking about the hands now low on his back. She took a sharp breath through her nose.  
"Touch telepathy." His voice was low, shy again. "I'm not doing it on purpose," he said quickly. "Its just stronger like this, when I'm..."  
"Being pampered?" She offered, teasing tone hampered by the way her voice shook. He laughed softly, such a rare sound, turning to look at her again.  
"I was going to say happy."  
Her heart swelled. Compulsively, she leaned forward and kissed his exposed cheek. His breathing stopped under her hands.  
Suddenly he was sitting up and facing her, eyes hooded. Clara's eyes widened in surprise, and she struggled for a moment not to oggle his exposed chest and endearing pudding cup of a belly.  
"I feel much better now." He rasped, moving quickly off of the table. She sighed, starting to turn away. Ruined a perfectly good moment, that's all she had done. Stupid, stupid-  
"Clara, where are you going?" She spun back around at the sound of the cap to the oil opening. He was smirking at her wide eyed expression, but there was something stronger underneath.  
"Your turn."


End file.
